There is a red basketNext to the billowingStack, filled with Nothin but a cockrel’sFeathers.The simple kreel doesNot move as it is not Held down in the boatAs the small boyClings to his father notTo fallInto the watercolorsRipple away from theSmall canoe, featheringOut into the colorlessWaves creating silence.Masinko, the fish fliesInto the kreel to beHeld delicately by theThin fingers of the downCushion.Man then smiles upon hisSon for her children​ Will eat and be so Consumed.When the contents preparedTheir cold, cloudedEyes opaque inDead disparity, yetThe red basket.As broiler fires the colorsDevour the fish and It becomes a higherOpal of universal light.The billowing stack does notCause a cough in the boy for his color Lifts the smoke.From the edge of hisEye’s splash he is clean.